


where children wear costumes and run amok! (amok, amok, amok...)

by sarisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarisa/pseuds/sarisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Disney Princesses like Milky Ways, Derek has an excuse for dressing like Danny Zuko, and Stiles is reevaluating his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where children wear costumes and run amok! (amok, amok, amok...)

**Author's Note:**

> This may turn into an eventual Supernatural crossover, not that I'm on a roll with those, or anything... We'll see where it goes. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes where the title comes from!

Allison’s puppy brown eyes are not effective on Stiles. They might be enough to make Scott roll over and beg for a belly rub (amongst other things), but the dog jokes actually did wear out after a month or two, so Stiles tries to avoid them unless they’re in his head, which is a place that is full of sheep and craziness on good days- anyway, the point is, they don’t work on Stiles. Not from a long distance, a short distance, or any kind of distance at all, whether it be from across the hall or two feet away blatantly not-flirting-but-exchanging-mournful-looks-with-Scott.

Not effective is the point. And Stiles maybe should stop eating all the Kit Kats.

The candy! The candy is the point. He is handing it out. The candy, not points. Parents get all kinds of pissy if you hand out pointy objects at Halloween, so he is not doing that. He is, in fact, being a productive member of society and furthering childhood obesity by handing out handfuls of sugary goodness to dressed up youngsters, because really, the one night a year kids should get candy is Halloween. None of those little bags of bat-shaped pretzels, yeesh. Not at his house.

It’s kind of become a tradition for him to be the one hanging out at the house handing out the candy, since his mom died; his dad usually works, since crime is unsurprisingly worse on Halloween than it is most other nights of the year, and Stiles isn’t one to deprive his neighborhood monsters (hah hah, see what he did there) from getting their booty. But not in, like, a dirty way, because they’re all twelve or under, and he totally doesn’t support that kind of thing. Ew.

So here he is, handing out candy and definitely not actively avoiding his wolfy social circle despite Allison’s attempts to convince him to tag along as third wheel to Lydia and Jackson’s Halloween bash. Hostessed by Lydia, actually hosted at Jackson’s house, because they’re all happy and in love again, and little red hearts follow them around wherever they go. Angry, bitchy little hearts.

Not that Stiles cares that their renewed relationship survived the summer. And stuff. Because he’s over that. And by over he means not over at all. Additionally, as though he needed another reason to be emo and stew in self-pity for the night, he’s still not sure he’s entirely past the whole Allison’s grandfather, who is apparently not dead yet, beating up his poor little human self as a message to his superhuman best friend thing. Altogether basically he doesn’t feel like being their “just friends” excuse. And he may be taking the self-pity thing a bit too far. Possibly. 

Oh, well.

Fortunately, uplifting entertainment appears in the form of a very morose-as-usual-looking sourwolf. Who appears to be looking for Stiles, if the way he stops in front of the Stilinski residence is any indication. Stiles finds it hilarious that a tiny girl in a Disney Belle gown shoves past him once he opens the gate, bolting down the walk to Stiles, who’s sitting on the front stoop with a plastic pumpkin filled less fully than it had been with chocolatey goodness. Derek looks slightly taken aback, but she seems unconcerned with him, her eyes narrowed at Stiles.

“Do you have Milky Ways?” she asks imperiously, pointing at the pumpkin with a sparkly yellow wand. 

“Do you know the magic words?” Stiles counters, putting his hand over the top of the pumpkin and eyeing her. “We don’t hold with tradition-breakers, here.”

She makes a face at him. “Trick or treat! Do you have Milky Ways or not?”

She cannot be more than four. Stiles stares at her perfect chocolate curls for a moment before sighing and holding out the pumpkin.

She picks out about four Milky Ways while he taps his foot impatiently, and then turns to run off. “You’re welcome!” he bellows after her, making a face. “Kids these days, eh?”

Derek arches a brow at him but says nothing. Stiles rolls his eyes. “What, are you taking advantage of the one night a year you can get away with having Danny Zuko’s fashion sense? Where are the rest of the T-Birds?” Well, T-Birds and one Pink Lady, he supposes. Not that Erica is overly fond of pink.

They should all totally have matching leather jackets, though. “What do you think about- “

“Stiles.” Okay, so Grease references are a ‘no’ for the sour-wolf. Shocker.

“Dude.” Stiles makes a face at him. “Fine, whatever. Trick or treating? That’s only marginally more creepy than your usual skulking.”

Derek stares at him. 

Stiles stares back, bugging his eyes out. It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes, and arch a brow again, this time at the large pile of candy wrappers behind him. Stiles raises a brow right back, and holds out the pumpkin. “Tell me you’re not interested in my delicious sugary goodness. In a totally G-rated way.”

With a grunt, Derek sits down next to him, taking a Tootsie Roll. Stiles sighs. “Okay, in a PG way.”

Derek is silent, no surprise there. Stiles glances over at him out of the corner of his eye, unwrapping another Kit Kat. “So you turned down the invite to the super dooper party of the year, too? Or you’re just out roaming the street urchin-filled sidewalks watching kids get sugar highs? The moms are probably thanking you for providing some eye candy.”

And that is two attempts at humor that might veer more than slightly into bisexual territory, because as per usual Stiles is unable to control his mouth. He’s used to it, of course, but he’s rarely the one spending one-on-one time with Derek (except for a few notable exceptions, the main one being that time when he kept them both afloat in the poor for hours, that was fun), and the fact that Derek had sat down on the stoop next to him, all comfortable-like, that’s weird. Very weird. It’s making Stiles a little nervous, to be honest, because last time he checked, he and Derek were not friends. Occasional cohorts, perhaps, allies, but Scott is all anti-Derek’s pack now, and Stiles had followed suit, in the sense that he’d pretty much avoided the werewolves completely over the summer, barring Scott. 

He’s just… look, when a guy gets his face bashed in and then his heart stomped on in the course of four hours, it’s enough to make him want to take a step back, right? It’s not like he and Derek have ever had the most peaceful relationship in the world. Stiles snarks, and Derek slams him into things. They’re kind of in a rut in their semi-ally-ship.

Derek takes another piece of candy, and the wrapper sound brings Stiles back out of his thoughts. “Not that I don’t appreciate the company, dude, but why are you here?”

Derek stuffs the candy into his mouth, chews, and swallows. Stiles does not watch his throat muscles working. Not at all. Um.

“There’s a new pack in town,” Derek says finally. “I need you to tell Scott.”

Stiles stiffens, and then reaches between them to snatch the pumpkin away and put it on his other side. Spiteful, yeah, that’s his middle name. “I charge tips for messenger service, now. Hazard pay. Have you ever heard of, I don’t know, texting him?”

Derek shoots him a confused sort of glare. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” 

“… Are you going to tell him?” Derek’s tone is flat, emotionless, and Stiles is abruptly fed up with him. With all of it, everything.

“Dude, you have any idea how you sound? You sound like a giant dickface, snapping orders left and right. No wonder Scott didn’t want to join your pack.” Stiles is well into his rant before he realizes he’d just insulted a werewolf. Well, insulted more than usual, but the problem, of course, lies in the fact that Derek regularly threatens to tear out his throat.

Seems like this time he might actually follow through on it, if the look he’s sending Stiles is any indiction.

Derek stands, uncurling himself from the steps in an eerily graceful movement, and Stiles scrambles to his feet, too, backing away. But Derek doesn’t attack; he turns and starts back down the walk. Stiles watches him go, trying to ignore the guilty knot in his stomach, only to turn and be confronted with three more Disney princesses.

“We heard you had Milky Ways,” the middle one says, her eyes narrowed at him.

“Milky Ways,” the other two chorus, their eyes… wow, really weird-looking. Their eyes are not right. They’re… black. All black. Christ.

Stiles takes a step back.

They take two steps forward. 

He takes another step back.

They step way into his personal bubble. 

“Hey- Derek?” he calls, swallowing. He’s not sure, right away, if Derek has any intention of turning around, but a few seconds later Derek is abruptly _there_ with no warning. Stiles is backed up against the steps, about to throw the pumpkin at the little girls and run, because they have no pupils in their creepy, creepy eyes and the candy is really not worth his life.

Derek’s eyes go red, and Stiles spares a thought for his neighbors, looking around; it’s past dark, and most of his neighbors’ front lights have gone out. When did that happen?

The little girls hiss, their faces contorting into something far more insect-like than human, and Derek’s fangs slide out. He growls at them, and Stiles backs up the steps. “Okay, this… you know what, take the candy. They can have their candy and leave.”

Derek’s snarl graduates to a roar, and the little girls suddenly fly at him on little gossamer fairy wings, one darting around him toward Stiles and the pumpkin, and Stiles yelps, swinging at her with it. “ _Fuck!_ ”


End file.
